Ocean of Thoughts
by Bazylia de Grean
Summary: The 2nd part of 'Flashes'; can be read separately, though. Jocasta/Dooku, this time from Jocasta's point of view.


This one is for Torli, who asked for another Jocasta fanfic :)

It's the second part to my another fanfic,_ Flashes_, but can be read separately.

I do not own Jocasta or any other character, or the SW universe, for that matter – they all belong to Emperor George Lucas ;)

The quote is from Alison Krauss' beautiful song _The Scarlet Tide_ (_Cold Mountain_ OST).

* * *

**Ocean of ****Thoughts**

**--  
**

_We'll__ rise above the scarlet tide..._

_--  
_

The smell of smoke is slowly filling the Archives. Jocasta clutches her lightsaber tighter as she leans against the wall. The only sound she can hear is the wild _thud thud thud_ of her heartbeat. She is frightened, yet she does fear neither death nor pain. She fears what will happen to the Jedi, to the galaxy. She could try to escape, to save her life, but her place, her duty is here – to preserve the knowledge and wisdom collected by generations of the Jedi, and do it at every cost. For that, she is ready.

The smell intensifies, and despite her better judgement Jocasta feels her fear rising. Her hand leaves the wall on which it has been resting and flies to her chest, trying to calm the quickening heartbeats. Her gaze leaves the lightsaber, and starts wondering, looking for something to cling to, something which would let her cease thinking. She takes in the Archives, tall, elegant shelves, neatly stored data crystals and holocrons, and the bronze busts of the Lost Twenty… Her eyes settle on the nearest one, a face both proud and somehow severe, which Jocasta knows was not really that harsh, and not always that proud. She remembers times that face has been thoughtful, crestfallen, lost, and times it has been understanding, gentle and warm, and even times that face has had a loving look to it. Jocasta smiles, her desperate hold on the 'saber hilt relaxing, her body leaning against the wall once more as she closes her eyes, losing herself in memories.

-------

The morning stimcaf's strong aroma is everywhere in the dining room, reaching even the furthest corner where Jocasta is seated. Her friends are now busy eating, so she decides to occupy herself with watching. She looks at the masters' table, and then her gaze shifts closer, to where the padawans are breaking their fast. Her hand, rising a cup of hot tea to her lips, freezes in mid-air as she spots a familiar face in the crowd. It is the boy she has met outside the temple just the other week, she cannot be mistaken, for she has never before seen eyes like his, so piercing.

Jocasta looks around quickly, somehow anxious, and silently sighs in relief when she is sure her friends were had not been looking. Cautiously, she continues to watch the boy. From what she can tell he is a years or so younger, but that does not bother her – why should it? Jocasta is only watching, and smiling secretly to herself, amused by her own thoughts, and by the fact she really, really likes his eyes. The whole situation seems quite funny for her, but at the age of eight most things are funny or amusing.

--

The Archives do not smell of dust, as she thinks they should; they smell of fresh air from the ventilation ducts, and, although that is hardly noticeable even for the Jedi, of technique. At least that's how Jocasta calls that smell – a tint of metal with a hue of ozone and something else she cannot define. She would like the smell of books and ink and dust so much more, but that can be found only in the oldest part of the Archives she's not allowed yet to enter.

Her eyes dart back to the windows, where a boy – no, a young man – is sitting, concentrating very very much on some history book. Someone calls her, and Jocasta walks down the main aisle, still glancing at the silhouette near the window. A corner of her mouth rises in a smirk when she notices he hasn't turned any pages yet, and is still reading the same one. As if something, or perhaps someone, was distracting him.

Jocasta smiles slightly and returns to her work. She has seen such things and talked them over with her friends, and she knows it will soon be gone; after all, it is just a mild teenage infatuation. Or first love, at least so they call it.

Jocasta is waiting for this to end, for both of them, because she is really eager to befriend the padawan properly.

--

The Room of the Thousand Fountains smells of fresh leaves, of waking flowers, of damp earth – for Jocasta, this is the scent of life, life growing, life invincible. She slips out of her shoes and steps into the shallow pool, cool water waving around her feet. Jocasta sits down on the sandy bank, losing herself in thoughts.

He is to stand the Trials today, maybe he's doing it right this moment. Jocasta keeps her fingers crosses for him, just for luck, and, because she's a Jedi Knight, she concentrates her thoughts wholly on him, so he could reach for her calmness. That's why she came here, to listen to the water flowing, to breathe in life, to still her mind into a peaceful ocean he could float in.

But deep down, Jocasta feels sadness. She is not anxious, for Yan will for sure become a Jedi Knight this very day, but she can't quite get rid of the thought that once he is knighted he will be away from her. They are close friends, close enough for her to miss him, but also close enough for her to understand she can't keep him down, can't stop him.

Jocasta closes her eyes, inhaling delicate scent of waterlilies. _If I have to give you away, I'd rather give you to the stars._ That will be his way, somewhere far away, among the stars, but Jocasta wouldn't want any other way for him, except maybe for a little path which would lead him back to the Temple from time to time.

Jocasta shakes her head. They have been friends for years now, but sometimes it seems she still didn't get over that old infatuation.

--

Nights in the desert are cold, but they both are warm, sitting by the fire in front of her tent. Jocasta watches Yan's proud profile as he gazes into the night, a mug of steaming tea in his hands. The scent of tea is suppressing even the smell of burning wood.

They finished talking some time ago, and now are simply enjoying each other's presence, and a moment of peace.

"Is it always so quiet here?", he asks suddenly, half-turning towards her.

"You mean in the desert?"

"Yes." Yan nods.

"Usually." She gets up. "But not always so peaceful." Now it's her turn to gaze into the night, watching the moonshine sliding along the sanddunes. There is a tiniest of smiles on her lips, as if she was wondering if she said the right thing, or if it was right to say it.

"It's never so peaceful out there," he says quietly.

Jocasta is aware of his gaze on her, and she knows corners of his mouth are slowly rising into a smile.

"Jo?"

She turns to him, a warm look on her face.

"Yes?"

"I missed you." _I missed you, dear friend_, his thoughts tell her.

She reaches out with her hand and ruffles his hair in the most undignified and non-Jedi manner, then lets her palm rest on his head, dark soft strands threading between her fingers.

"I missed you too."

--

She can smell drying blood and sweat – the remnants of the fight. Then she simply turns her sense of smell off, together with her awareness of pain, and tries to settle into sleep. But the felling of being watched keeps her from falling asleep. Jocasta opens her eyes to the sight of Yan, quickly averting his gaze from her.

"Hey, I've been through worse before," she reassures him, smiling weakly.

"I know. And I'm perfectly calm, in case you haven't noticed," he states coolly, but still does not look at her.

"But of course."

He sighs and finally looks at her, reproachfully.

"All right, I give up. I _am _worried. Now do you feel better with that?"

"Yes."

He blinks in amazement.

"Why?"

"It's quite nice to know you worry for me too."

There is slight confusion written on his face, as he goes through her sentence again and stops at the word 'too'.

"You do?"

"Do what?" she demands, although she knows very well what he means.

"Jocasta Nu, I warn you…"

She smiles, amused.

"Of course I do worry for you, fool."

Yan's eyebrows arch.

"Remind me about this 'fool' once you're out of the healer's…"

"I will, don't worry."

"And now, would you finally just get some sleep?" he asks, with theatrical exasperation. "Please?" he adds, after some second thoughts.

"I'm trying to…"

He rolls his eyes, and Jocasta has to summon all her strength of will not to laugh.

"First, I'd suggest you stopped talking…"

"But…", she interrupts, but is silenced when he puts a hand to her forehead.

"Force, just go to sleep already," he mumbles, but she can pick up affection hidden within his tone.

Gentle waves of the Force come flowing from his warm fingers, and Jocasta slowly falls asleep.

--

His eyes are closed and his face is pale with exhaustion, but it's much calmer. Jocasta wonders if he is asleep or just resting, and if she should return to reading in the second case. Finally she decides not to, and just watches.

The little rooms smells of herbs and pills, underlayed with the stiffling smell of illness. She touches Yan's forehead, and to her relief it's no longer so hot, merely a tone warmer than it should be. He is recovering.

And then, suddenly, Jocasta realises that her worry for him is more than only friendly, that her yearning each time he is away is more that friendly, that the touch of her hand on his forehead is somehow far too tender than it should be. And, surprisingly, she is aware that somehow she knew it was coming, and she did nothing to prevent it, and she did not want to prevent it.

Jocasta remembers the day Yan was facing his trials, and her thoughts are once again a calm, serene ocean, because she does not try to deny her feelings. She accepts them wholly, and in acceptance she finds peace of heart. She has his friendship and his trust, and it is her he seeks first whenever he comes back, and Jocasta decides she will not look for more, because she already has it all. It does not matter if it is in friendship or in love, for he belongs to her anyway, and she to him.

She bends over him and plants a light kiss on his temple.

_Sleep well, my knight._

--

She tries to concentrate on her work, but every few minutes the feel of his kiss echoes in her senses, and the world starts spinning again, and on the ocean of her thoughts waves rise up dancing and swirling, and it is no longer calm. For now she knows he belongs to her in love, and he always will – and that realisation calms down her mind, the ocean peaceful once again.

She turns the lights off and leaves the Archives.

Jocasta remembers an old saying, that whatever is believed real does exist, and another, that whatever has not existed can never end. And she wants their bond to be both, real and neverending. So she decides all between them would be unspoken, and thus will not exists, but she believes it will always be there. She knows it will always be.

She stops before his door, inhales deeply and rings.

--

Jocasta opens her eyes slowly, as she feels the pillow beneath her face rising and falling steadily as if it was breathing. She has to stiffle an amused chuckle when she discovers the pillow is in fact Yan's chest and it _is_ breathing that's moving it. Jocasta leans on her elbow and rises a little bit, just enough to take in his face. His strong features are smoothened by some calm dream, and there is a look of complete serenity that is absent from his face when he is awake. Corners of Jocasta's lips lift up in an affectionate smile. She reaches up and gently brushes the outline of his cheek with her fingertips, softly, so that she wouldn't wake him up. She props herself upright and shifts a bit, cautiously, and then leans down again and lays her face just next to his, brushing his long hair out of the way. His hair smells of sleep, that particular soft scent so hard to define, and for the first time since their first meeting Jocasta thinks him vulnerable, and human to the very core. She strokes his cheek tenderly, her eyes lit up with affection, and then moves her hand down his chest, her fingers feather-light. His skin feels soft and warm, and when Jocasta finally rest her hand flat over his heart the awareness of his heartbeats makes her feel suddenly alive as she has never been before, not even last night. Maybe because he is asleep, and the room is so silent she can practically hear his heart beating.

She feels him shift as he awakens, and then his palm covers her hand, fingers intertwining.

"Did you sleep well?" he asks in a quiet tone meant only for her.

Jocasta looks up at him.

"Yes," she answers with a smile, then, leaning on both the bed and his chest, rises up until she is half-seated. "But I much prefer the waking," she adds, then bends over him and kisses him lightly on the lips.

He pulls her towards him gently, his eyes alight with tenderness and joy, and love.

"I agree," he consents shortly, before kissing her back.

When they part Jocasta laughs merrily.

He blinks at her, confused. "What?"

"Is this that famous eloquence of yours?" she asks, then laughs again, and in a moment he joins her, and they are still laughing together as he draws her down to him and holds her.

They calm down slowly, and she feels him smile.

"You see, my lady?" he whispers lowly into Jocasta's hair, tightening his arms around her. "_You_ make me speechless."

--

She is waiting for Yan in the dining room, heady scent of stimcaf filling the air. The clock rings a _ding-dong_ for the passing hour, and the sound makes Jocasta jump up to a standing position. She keeps her mind calm, but fear is slowly creeping into her heart. He is never late. Never. He is always waiting for her.

Jocasta waits one more minute, then another, then two more, five, seven… Fifteen minutes pass with another _ding-dong_, and she slowly, stiffly sits down again. She feels like drowning; there are no words, and no thoughts but one. _He is gone. He is gone. Gone, gone, gone…_

Even before Yoda enters the room, his gaze searching and finally settling on her, his face saddened and aged much within only a few hours, she knows. She knows, with terrifying clarity, that Yan is gone, and will not come back. She knows that stars claimed him one final time, and were not going to give him back, ever. She knows that last evening his goodnight was a farewell.

She keeps her thoughts calm as she stands up, as she strides to the door, brushing past Yoda, as her footsteps sound along the corridors, and then finally are silenced by the grass in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. She finds the bench on which they were sitting together last night, and collapses onto it.

For another few moments her face is impassive, collected. But then the ocean of her thoughts rises up, her eyes glitter with water, and then the ocean is flowing down her cheeks, as she is crying silently. Because she knows that out there, it's never peaceful.

--

The Archives are calm and dimmed, and there is a smell of burning candle. Jocasta turns her gaze to the little flame, away from one of the bronze bust of the Lost – now – Twenty. She is not crying, although there is pain. But then, there is pity, and – still, and it makes everything so painful – there is love.

Her thoughts are floating. When she heard he turned into a Sith, she did not cry, and she was not angry, and anger has no access to her still. There is, as there was then, only sorrow. And yearning.

_I miss you. How much I miss you_.

From that day on, she lights a candle every evening, for him. That candle is her ray of hope, and her silent prayer that one day he may return to her. That one day the dark would give him back. No. That one day the _light_ would claim him back. And then, there is peace, for she knows that one day, one way or another, it _will_.

She waits until the candle burns out and leaves. On her way out, she stops by one of the bronze busts, regards it for a long while, then steps closer and brushes her fingers along the cold metal cheek so tenderly as if it was a real and warm one. She smiles gently. She will wait.

She does not know, but somewhere in the other part of the galaxy a certain Sith lord, once well known to her as a Jedi, wakes up from a dream, baffled, rises his hand and touches his cheek in wonder, his eyes suddenly filled with yearning.

She does not know, but it makes little difference to her. For he was hers from the beginning, as so at the end he will return to her.

--

Jocasta wakes up on the floor in the Archives, a dull pain in her head, and her thoughts hazy. She does not remember anything. But she is laying on the cold stone, and her lightsaber is on the floor, too, and she has the weirdest feeling she missed something of great importance.

She ignores the pain in her head and concentrates, and notes traces of the smell of ozone, and a mark in the air that is not quite a scent, but more a reminiscent of a presence, and her heart leaps.

"Yan…" she whispers, but the only answer is the hollow echo.

She gets up carefully and slowly makes her progress to the door. She doesn't remember anything, but she has to tell Yoda.

Jocasta is at the door when she receives a quiet impulse through the Force, like a memory of words.

… _with you, love._

--

When she hears of what happened up over Coruscant, she does not close her eyes in sadness, like Yoda, nor bow her head in hesitant respect, like Obi-Wan, nor once again grieve over losing one of the greatest Jedi of their time, like many do.

She knew it earlier, before they told her. She knew it from the moment she was standing in the garden, among rose bushes, and felt a touch of the Force in the sunlight. Not a real touch, not a word, not even a though, but a sign.

She smiled to the roses and to the sun, and to the Force. When she spoke, her voice was peaceful, like her thoughts.

"Now you will wait for me, won't you?"

-------

There has been no movement or noise, only a momentarily stir in the Force. Jocasta's eyes snap opened, her hand activating the lightsaber just in time to parry a blow from the other one, blue, as her own. Jocasta lets the Force flow through her and suddenly all the fear is gone, and eyes looking into Anakin Skywalker's darkened face are firm and calm.

"It's over, Madame Nu," he announces, his tone mocking as his lips form her title.

Jocasta feels a surge of the Force and for a moment reality is gone behind a flash of brilliant light. She returns Skywalker's disdainful gaze with her wise and serene one.

"No, boy," she states in a clear and calm voice, as realisation dawns on her, "It's just beginning."

'Sabers clash, and she can smell ozone in the air, and then there is pain when he throws her against the wall, her weapon flying away and meeting the floor with a loud clatter. Jocasta tries to collect herself, but before she is standing steadily again Skywalker is already behind her, and she inhales loudly when his blue blade impales her. He turns away, letting her slump down onto the floor; she will die soon, and he does not have to be bothered with her anymore.

Jocasta's eyes close, and lightness is back there, an ocean of light, brilliant and warm and shimmering, welcoming her. The light is enveloping her gently, and she feels warmth, and a familiar one – all this, light and warmth and sudden feeling of happiness and complete serenity, it feels like a well-known caring, loving embrace. Like _his_ embrace. No, oh, not _like_; for it _is_ his embrace, for he has been waiting for her, just as she has been waiting for him for all the years.

She opens her thoughts and whispers into the Force, _With you, love_.

And it is _his_ voice than answers her from the Force.

_I missed you, love... I so much missed you__.._

Jocasta smiles. She is at home.

* * *

_Author's note:_

I have to admit the more I write Jocasta the more I like her. At least, my version of her, for there is very little canon to base her on. And writing her has another side effect – I started really liking Dooku. As for Jocasta/Dooku – the best SW pairing ever, even if it's not official :) And – I just so have to say this – they're lovely to write.

[PS When my exams will be over by the end of June, there might be another fanfic starring count Dooku. As my strict canon consist of films only (plus chosen threads from other sources, like _Yoda: Dark Rendez-vous_), there's plenty of time between TPM and AotC to write about. And I've been thinking about writing - for a change - a non-Jedi character, and since I don't like smugglers too much and we're considering Star Wars that leaves me with a politician... I'm still in the 'concept' phase, but I hope I'd get down to writing it. And to think it all began with innocent Jocasta/Dooku writing...]


End file.
